


let me steal this moment from you now

by pro_se



Series: softly, in vain [6]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Farewells, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Some reference to past works, the author is only slightly touch starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 11:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16240709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pro_se/pseuds/pro_se
Summary: The two of you slip in and out of sleep as more and more light starts to pour through the half-drawn curtains. Vane likes to hold you close, his lean form curled like a crescent. He prefers touch, whether it’s hands linked together or his cheek pressed against your shoulder, in any way he can read movement.





	let me steal this moment from you now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dancingcroissant](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dancingcroissant).



> :^)
> 
>  _C'mon, baby, c'mon darling,_  
>  _Let me steal this moment from you now_  
>  \- Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush (cover by Placebo)
> 
> a/n: writing this reminded me so much of how much i love their characters aaaaaa

You make it to the comfort and security of your apartment an hour before a typhoon rips through the port city, ripping shutters open, enticing old leaks to spring anew, and forcing denizens by the docks to evacuate to higher ground.

You settled for stoking the fire with a weather eye. This was not your first tribulation with Mother Nature, and would not be the last as long as you lived in the Caribbean. You could only think about how miserable the other town citizens could be, alone or with family, and draw your coat tighter around your frame.

There’s hammering on your door that you mistake for pelting rain, until Charles Vane forces the door open a crack and roars for you _to open the bleeding door, Christ, it’s me_ , and you remove the braces before the pirate smashes it to splinters. The auburn-haired man staggers inside, soaked to the skin, then collapses by the fireplace.

“Anyone else?” you demand, not yet replacing the door latch.

“Kenway,” Vane answers between chattering teeth.

True enough, the wild-eyed pirate follows suit, staggering to your apartment-turned-refuge, and you now have two drenched pirates curled by the fire like drowsing cats. You strip off their clothes and boots while they’re too cold to care about decency. You throw a rough fleece blankets over to their shivering figures. “Share,” you bark before either tries to start anything. “Where are your men?”

“Safe. Gone ahead with Adé,” Kenway says, wiping rain from his face. His usually sleek voice is but a hoarse rasp. “We were last to leave the ports.” They docked to escape the storm, then took advantage of the eye to secure _Jackdaw_ and _Ranger_.

Vane says nothing; he just scowls at the fire.

You shove mugs of steaming tea in their stiff hands. “You’re welcome to stay until the tempest passes. Come morning, we’ll see if there is any damage.” Kenway nods, raising the drink to his rosy, cracked lips. Vane follows suit, however his dark eyes are fluttering as the warmth of the flat coaxes sleep.

As the storm howls and batters at the miserly island, the three of you partake in the unexpected company with gratitude. You are welcome for their coarse voices instead of trembling shutters; they find security with you. Vane eventually curls up in front of the hearth, snoring loudly. A wicked gleam enters Kenway’s ocean eyes for a moment, then fades as he forgoes pranks for your sake.

You and Kenway deal cards by the gaslight. The loser of each round gets flicked on the forehead and so far, you’ve been evenly matched by the blonde pirate.

“I’m impressed,” you say, shuffling the worn deck. “Have you been practicing?”

“With Thatch and Hornigold, when we’ve the time between raids.”

“Profitable times?”

Kenway hesitates before throwing a card down. You easily recognize his troubled expression, but he’s not often thrown by misfortune or hardship. “Profitable, aye. And we’ve been pillaging in a frenzy.” He thumbs over the cards. “Perhaps too much. And too quickly.”

“What does that mean?”

He scratches his head, still damp from the weather. “Some of us pirates will leave Nassau. Less activity means less mercenaries and hunters, so we’ll come back in a month or two.”

“You lot are notorious in these waters,” you tease lightly. Kenway cracks a grin.

Then he glances over at Vane, motionless and oblivious to your conversation. “Vane’s leaving, too. Just to be sure. We leave the day after tomorrow. Crack of dawn. He was pushing for next week, but it was too risky. Think he wanted to spend more time with you.”

You copy him and gaze at the sleeping pirate. Long ago, you’d have questioned the legitimacy of his words. _With me?_ You would have laughed off the idea. But recent times see Vane and you interact in a much more intimate manner. And he would sometimes hold your hand in the Old Avery tavern, or sneak a kiss while everyone checked their reflection in the bottom of their tankards.

Vane cradles the idea of affection carefully, never wanting to let you to doubt or assume you’re meant to serve as a distraction.

Every kiss and every touch lingers, so however brief his lips might find yours, you know that his love is genuine.

It takes you a longer to fall asleep, what with two pirates snoring like bears and the unrelenting tempest, but you also think about what little time you have left with Charles Vane.

* * *

The day begins slowly, lazily, with a pirate sneaking under your blankets as the hearth cools in early light.

Vane’s lips and stubbled beard press against your neck. You sleepily smile at the familiar, abrading sensation. “Storm’s let up,” he whispers in a croaky voice, “and Kenway’s gone out. Took a once-over your windows and doors. Not a single leak. Pretty lucky girl, y’know.”

“I know.” You stretch awake, but he lightly tucks you back under the warm covers, wrapped in his arms.

“Let’s just spend a few more hours in bed. No one’s expecting anythin’ after a night like that.”

Vane is right-- most shops would close and reassess their stocks, or prioritize their personals. You should look over the trading booth, but it was at higher elevation and less likely to be damaged. It seems like luck is on the pirate’s side. If the storm arrived later, their departure from Nassau would be hindered. What’s more, the surrounding islands have their own tide of repairs to focus on, not scavenging pirates.

The two of you slip in and out of sleep as more and more light starts to pour through the half-drawn curtains. Vane likes to hold you close, his lean form curled like a crescent. He prefers _touch_ , whether it’s hands linked together or his cheek pressed against your shoulder, in any way he can read movement.

You kiss him awake, shifting attention from his lips to his neck and the calloused pads of his fingers. Facing him, you realize that he’s pulled on his dry clothes. They smell strongly of petrichor, the unforgettable scent of rain and earth.

Though you’ve managed to get the pirate on his feet, Vane is an unforgivable distraction. His kisses and wandering hands make chores much more difficult, so you send him away to remove the last of the boards nailed to the windows. Muttered curses drift through the open doorway as you tidy and sweep the flat. The noise of Nassau carries on the occasional breeze, bringing news about dead fish strewn on the beaches and a partly collapsed dock.

Vane finally removes the last of the planks and tosses them on the porch. He re-enters the apartment and picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder. You shriek and grab at his shirt when he threatens to drop you. Vane tosses you on the bed and pins you down, his mouth dragged up in a playful smirk before you soften it with a kiss.

You wind your hands through his locks and he braces on his forearms, sinking deeper in that lovely, tender kiss, because Vane _loves_ being intimate with you.

There’s a sudden rap at the door and the two of you break apart, looking at the broad silhouette with a mix of surprise and embarrassment. Benjamin Hornigold grins as he balances at the threshold. His right hand is bandaged but otherwise he and his cobalt blue privateer’s outfit seem untouched by the storm.

“Mornin’, lovebirds,” he chirps playfully. “Am I interrupting?”

“Jealous, Hornigold?”

“Aye, Charles, but my heart be still-- I can’t bear to lure you away from the lovely princess.” His smirk widens and even you crack a small smile. Vane rolls his eyes. “Anyways, Kenway sent me to say _Ranger_ could do with a new set of rigs for the back sails.”

“And the _Jackdaw_?” asks Vane.

“Shattered prow, but nothin’ we can’t fix ‘fore long.”

The dark-haired pirate salutes a goodbye, sticks his hands in his pockets, and disappears from the open doorway. Both you and Vane look at each other. “Would you leave me for Benjamin Hornigold?” you tease, running your nails along his bearded jaw. “He’s quite handsome with those sideburns.”

“Not for all the vessels in His Majesty’s Service,” Vane grumbles. Then he sighs, and kneels his forehead against yours. “I have to go and tend to _Ranger_. See if Kenway needs assistance. Damn. I wanted to spend more time with you.”

You kiss him once more. “Come find me at Old Avery when you’re finished.”

* * *

Neither of you finish errands until early evening.

His cloaked silhouette spots the distance with his fellows, bickering and arguing with good humor. You and Anne Bonny sit and have a quick round of drinks. You show her a sleight of hand trick, making cards disappear with a puff of air. Her smile blossoms like a flower, slow and gentle and new to the world.

Kidd slides into the empty seat next to Anne. The black-haired pirate squeezes her hand affectionately, however he leans across the table to kiss you on the cheek. “My two lovely ladies. Hope the storm din’t bother you none.”

“Ol’ Avery stands true,” Anne says.

“As does the trading shop, thank God,” you add.

You nod as the rest of the pirates catch up, their hands idly resting on belts and pistols as they laugh away crass insults. Kenway and Thatch clap each other on the back and head inside for a drink. Hornigold winks as he passes, and follows them with Kidd and Anne.

Charles Vane is in the tow, thoughtfully rubbing over his thickened beard, his eyes glazed over. He leans over the railing, his unfocused gaze fixed somewhere along the docks or the sinking sun. “Charles?” you ask softly.

“I’m here, love. I’m just thinkin’ about a lot.” You can’t see his face from this angle, but you see the way his shoulders lift and drop with each heavy breath. Vane’s voice is rough and monotonous. “Kenway told you that we were leaving tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

“Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. Or that I didn’t have more time with you.”

You manage a smile on your face. “Still, you didn’t ask me to come sail away,” you tease lightly.

Vane barks a short laugh. “No use. I’ve known your answer.” His emerald eyes flick back to you; they linger on the hesitant, subtle bite on your lower lip. “I’ve asked you to come with me again and again. You always say you have work. A reputation. As you still do, if I remember correctly.”

The pirate strides back to the table and he sets a boot on the bench, bending down to meet your gaze. He looks unusually calm and pensive, despite how the wind tousles his auburn hair and that ragged, scarred coat. With barely any between your lips and his, Vane still smells of rain and earth. A crooked smirk claws its way on his pale face.

“And now, _you_ ask _me_. What’s different?” Vane asks softly.

You reach up and place your palms against his shoulders-- not pushing him away nor pulling him closer. You just want to _touch_ him, make sure that he’s real and solid and in front of you. “What if you don’t come back?”

He shakes his head with mild exasperation. “I’ve left time and time again, and returned ev’ry time.”

“And there are men out there who are willing to _hunt_ you down--”

“Which is why I’m traveling with others, and why I couldn’t ask you to come. An encounter on the ocean is a hellish fight with no shortage of violence. And on the other hand, I couldn’t risk bounty hunters scouring through Nassau for a couple of yellow-bellied pirates.”

“I am not afraid,” you say gently.

The look in his clouded gaze silently reads, _I am afraid for you,_ and you cease your protests.

The next few hours are spent in the company of friends who will be dearly missed. Gambling, drinking, exchanging stories and curses-- just the staple of those flying under the black flag, and their companions. Anne even finds a few moments away from bartending to sit with Kidd and Rackham, effortlessly charming everyone with her lilting voice. Kenway drunkenly flirts with you; Hornigold drunkenly flirts with Vane; Thatch watches amusedly, however his smile hides behind the mass of black beard.

But the night belongs to you and Vane-- he walks you back to the apartment, holds the door open for you, and he is the one to kiss away your fears and reservations about tomorrow’s voyage. He swings you in the air, round and round til the two of you are dizzy and giggling, then collapse on the mattress.

“Darling,” Vane tells you in harsh, grating voice, which somehow makes his tidings of love saccharine-sweet, “though bloodied and bruised, I’ve always found my way back to you.”

* * *

Dawn breaks.

The sunrise splinters across the horizon, deep, dark night fading into soft hues of orange and red. The ocean reflects her shine, transforming into shifting mirror shards, blinding vision in between quiet moments. While dawn is far, impossibly far away to grasp and settle in your palm, the world bathes in her morning light. Life ripples across the island.

Charles Vane reaches over and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is gentle and slow, like he’s savoring the sensation or gesture. Something like a smile hides on his lips, and you lean closer into his warm body. It’s early morning as the two of you rest against the worn rails of _Ranger_ , the pirate vessel docked in Nassau thanks to an impromptu storm.

He winces when the morning bells echo throughout the island, and he takes a long draft of his drink. The hangover cure you’d prepared had a dash of cardamom, mint, and other spices into Vane’s coffee. You tuck a packet of spare herbs in his coat pocket and pat it gently. “For your future hangovers. Share with the others if you so wish.”

“I will not,” Vane replies, smirking. “The tea tastes like you.”

The other pirates eventually appear on the docks, their bags and weapons prepared for the voyage away from home; their arrival signals your departure. Halfway down the gangplank, Vane slots his mouth on yours and kiss you hungrily, as he’s done hundreds of times during the night. He does not mind the gaping stares nor whistles that erupt from your mutual friends.

The two of you break apart and entwine your fingers together.

“Stay true to your course, pirate.”

"Always, _always_."


End file.
